


And I Will Give You Rest

by nosmokingpistol



Category: The Exorcist (TV)
Genre: First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-03-09 09:08:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13478247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nosmokingpistol/pseuds/nosmokingpistol
Summary: "Then Jesus said: Come to me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest." Matthew 11:28After Marcus walked away from Tomas and Mouse, he found himself needing someone to walk towards. A kind and understanding Fish and Wildlife agent was waiting with open arms.





	And I Will Give You Rest

Marcus kept walking. His legs were cramping in the cold night air and his throat and chest ached from screaming prayers and cursing himself. No matter. He forced himself to follow the path to the cabin by the shore. He’d walked away, and Mouse and Tomas were left to do God’s work. He was no longer worthy, and a small part of him was grateful for that. He needed to look into eyes that didn’t reflect death and evil and the pain of lives lost. He’d had enough of it. 

He stopped to inhale the smell of a wood stove and was rewarded by a coughing fit. He scrubbed his hand over his face, climbed the stairs and knocked on the wide plank door. _“What the hell am I doing here?”_   he thought. _“Peter doesn’t deserve this mess."_

When the door opened Marcus could say nothing. He felt frozen in place, as if time had stopped and God was deciding when the second act would begin. He felt his knapsack being unbuckled, vaguely knew that he was holding out his hands in supplication, and thought he heard a whisper as a kind voice said his name. His face felt wet. It wasn’t raining. Why was his face wet? Nothing made sense.

“Marcus!” Peter moved the bag indoors and guided Marcus through the entry, shutting the door behind them. He reached out and placed one hand on Marcus’ shoulder; with the other he gently lifted Marcus’ chin. He knew why tears were streaming down that worn and haunted face. News travels fast on the Island. Andy Kim had died. He had taken his own life, according to all reports. “Marcus? I heard. I heard what happened. I’m sorry.”

Marcus’ face twisted in pain and as his legs gave way he sank to the floor. Peter caught him on the way down, guiding him to his knees, and closed his eyes against the keening wail that ended in a choking gasp. He held Marcus tight as wracking sobs shook his body and when at last, exhausted, Marcus knelt back and stared at the floor Peter helped him up and led him down the hall to the guest room. He dropped the knapsack on a side chair and led Marcus into the bathroom. Marcus fumbled with his jacket, hands still shaking, and Peter reached out and stilled them. He gently removed the jacket and started the shower as he continued to remove Marcus’ shoes, his socks and his shirt. Marcus began to undo his belt and they exchanged small smiles. As Peter left the bedroom he heard the shower door close. He leaned against the doorway and took a deep breath. _“Dear God.”_ he thought. _“Dear God. Please give him peace.”_

****

Marcus lingered under the forceful spray, scrubbing himself with a bar of soap and letting the water run over him until it began to cool. When he finally stepped out a pile of towels, a new toothbrush, and a razor had been placed on the vanity. He wrapped himself in one of the towels and smirked at the razor. _“Right – fat chance, mate.”_ It struck him that his clothes were gone but he couldn’t be arsed to care. The bedroom was chilly after the steam of the shower. Peter had laid out some flannel pants and a tee shirt, and an extra blanket was draped across the foot of the bed. Marcus dried off and put on the baggy clothing. _“Guest manners after all, can’t be caught starkers”_ he thought. He stared ruefully at the towel he had dropped on the floor, and padded back into the bathroom to hang it up.

When he returned and went to pull down the covers he noticed that a Bible had been placed on the bedside table, along with a bottle of water, a thermos and a packet of snack cakes. There was a note leaning up against the lamp, scribbled on an old envelope. _Vegetable soup. Homemade. No dessert until you eat your veggies._ Marcus chuckled softly to himself and reached for the thermos. _“You bastard”_ he thought. _“You wonderful bastard.”_

Marcus ate all of the soup, which was excellent, and surprisingly only one of the cakes before stretching out under the covers and opening the Bible. He turned to John and read. "Peace I leave with you, my peace I give to you…" He was asleep before the next verse.

Marcus slept soundly and woke only when the sunlight from the window crossed his face. He stretched and reached for his watch, and was amazed to find that it was nearly eleven o’clock. He made his way to the bathroom and then opened the bedroom door. On the floor outside it were his clothes, washed and folded, and another recycled envelope. _I’m out weighing bullfrogs. Are you impressed? Coffee’s in the thermos by the fridge. Pick you up at noon, we’re having lunch on the boat._

Marcus dressed quickly and headed for the kitchen. He smiled as he poured himself a large mug of coffee. _“This is the day the Lord has made”_ he thought, and walked out onto the porch. He sat in one of the Adirondack chairs and listened to the birds singing all around him. He took a long drink of coffee and raised his face to the sun. _“Rejoice and be glad in it.”_

****

Marcus was waiting on the dock when Peter idled in promptly at twelve o’clock, hoisting a six-pack sized cooler and a brown paper bag. “The Northwest’s best and a selection of vegetarian delights from the Israeli grill around the Point!”

“Sounds good—permission to come aboard?”

Peter laughed as Marcus gave a lazy salute and held out his hand. “Get in here, you.” As he steered them out into the lake he laughed again. “You know this is all a clever ruse, right? I need help gathering muskrat feces this afternoon. Need to see if they’ve been eating the turtles again.”

“Yeah, well…” Marcus’ smile faded a bit. “I’ve dealt with a lot worse than muskrat shit so no worries.” Peter popped the cap on a beer and handed it to Marcus, gesturing to the starboard bench seat before getting his own. The two men sat in silence for a moment, savoring the brew and the lake breeze. “Thank you, Peter. Last night… I needed a safe haven. And you were there and I don’t—“

“It’s okay.” Peter took Marcus’ hand and squeezed it. “I’m glad you came to me. I’m glad you trusted me that much.” He took a swig of beer and lifted his hand to Marcus’ shoulder. “Do you want to talk about it?” He felt Marcus’ shoulder tense up and took his hand away. Marcus studied the bird droppings scattered about the deck.

“Not now. No.” He looked up and caught Peter’s eye. “But I want to. I want to tell you everything. Just not now. Okay?” Peter reached over, arm around Marcus’ shoulder, and drew him near. He pressed his lips against Marcus’ temple and felt him relax and lean in closer.

“Whenever you’re ready” he murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.”

****

After a lunch of the lightest falafel Marcus had ever had, grape leaves, and savory grilled eggplant Peter headed for the eastern shore and slowed until he spied a characteristic push-up. He had already lectured Marcus on muskrats, their habitats, and a lot more that Marcus wasn’t sure he needed to know, but he had been grateful for the distraction. Peter docked at the next pier and grabbed his field kit. “You ready?”

Marcus answered with a grin. They hiked back to the edge of the marsh and Peter pointed to the capped mound hugging the shore. “Be careful. They’re not usually too active this time of day, but they can be nasty buggers if they’re disturbed.”

“Well yeah, we wouldn’t want to interrupt any Muskrat Love, now would we? Muskrat Susie, muskrat Sam…” he sang, decidedly off key.

Peter’s reply was a classic eye-rolling, followed by a deeply heaved sigh and a glare. “I’ll have you know this is serious science. Plus you’re tone deaf.” _Damn it felt good to hear Marcus laugh._

“…do the jitterbug out in Muskrat Land, and they shimmy…” Marcus swayed his hips as he sang and was rewarded by a grin of approval from Peter. “…Sam is so skinny…”

“Yeah, about that. Didn’t want to be rude…”

“Oi! This ain’t skinny, this is lithe and toned, mate! I could crack a walnut with these thighs!” He caught the expression on Peter’s face – the gulp of a suddenly dry mouth, the quick look away. Marcus felt his own cheeks flush and cleared his throat. “So! Where is this festival of excrement I’ve heard so much about?”

****

Peter had dropped Marcus back at the dock and gone to the satellite lab on the mainland to register his samples and log the initial analysis. Marcus was happy that he’d been of help and now considered himself an expert at telling muskrat poo from beaver, for what it was worth. He stowed the lunch leftovers in the fridge and gave himself a tour of the cabin. It was a perfect combination of rustic and modern and he relished the atmosphere of peace and comfort. He felt at home here and was happy to find that Peter’s taste in books, film and music was similar to his own. It was hard to imagine that kind smiling man in the midst of battle in Kosovo. He wished fervently that he could somehow have spared him that horror.

Back in the guest room he rummaged through his bag and brought out his sketch book and pencils. He meandered back to the front room and turned on the media center. As Pink Floyd filled the room Marcus grinned and pulled up the gallery on his cheap, pre-paid phone. He’d taken a shot of Peter and an angry muskrat in a staring contest. The fact that Peter had endured despite his own struggles gave Marcus hope and he felt a rush of affection for the handsome wildlife agent. _“No. Don’t go there. You damage everyone who gets close to you.”_ He settled back on the overstuffed sofa and began to draw.

****

“Hey there, I’m home!” Peter’s merry voice called in from the front hall and Marcus looked up as he entered the room. “Looks like you’ve kept yourself entertained.”

Marcus cocked his head and pulled a face. “What were you expecting, dear? Me hoovering with pearls on?”

Peter looked confused. “Hoovering? Do I want to know what hell you raise when I’m gone?“ He cursed himself immediately. “Shit. I’m sorry that was–”

“I won’t break, Peter, even in the face of terrible jokes.” Marcus smiled warmly. “C’mere. I want to show you this.”

Peter sat down close to Marcus and leaned over to see the drawing. It was stunning and he was amazed at the talent involved. His heart ached to know that the man sitting next to him could create such beauty but had spent most of his life witnessing horrors that would drive most people insane. His voice was husky. “Marcus this is beautiful. Just beautiful.”

“So are you!” Marcus blurted out before he could catch himself. _In for a penny, in for a pound._ “I don’t mean your looks. You’re good looking and all but your heart… the heart of you… it’s beautiful. You know what I mean?”

Peter gazed at Marcus, saw something coming to life in those weary eyes and reached out to cup his cheek. “I know exactly what you mean.” He leaned in, tentatively at first but as Marcus shifted to get closer he planted soft kisses on his forehead, his cheek, his lips. Marcus reciprocated gently before flicking his tongue along Peter’s lower lip. Peter’s mouth opened in response. They kissed deeply then, slowly, before breaking. They sat for a moment, forehead to forehead, before Peter pulled back.

“I should tell you – when I was on the mainland today I went to the bank, got you some cash. I figured you might not want to be found through a credit card. A friend of mine owns the motel. Your friends paid in full for last week, but I’ve got your suitcase. Told him you had a family emergency.“

Marcus was overwhelmed at such generosity and kindness. “Thank you, Peter. I don’t know what to say. I’m short now, no more stipend from the diocese, but I’ll pay you back when I can.”

“You already have. I’m pretty sure I know what you were trying to do – what you _did_ do – for Andy Kim and his family. From what I see it cost you plenty. Now– how about some leftovers?”

****

Dinner was eaten, the kitchen was tidied, and Marcus had reveled in the sense of normalcy and domesticity that he had rarely experienced. Peter had talked about his childhood in Spokane, his sisters and nieces and nephews, his penchant for 1960s beach movies and his youthful dream of being a surfer guru. Marcus said little, just smiled and felt some of the tension leave his body. Peter started a fire while Marcus rummaged through the CDs stacked in bins and loaded the player up with a collection of new wave classics.

Peter reached into the oak sideboard and withdrew two old fashioned glasses and a bottle of Maker’s Mark. He poured them each two fingers and set the bottle on the coffee table in front of them. “Here’s to bright stars and still waters” he said as he handed a glass to Marcus.

“That’s lovely!” Marcus sniffed the bourbon appreciatively and took a sip. “Oh, that’s nice. So what’s that toast from, never heard it?”

“It’s from a poem I wrote. It was about losing your way, getting cast adrift. The long road home, you know.”

“You write poetry! I’d love to read it sometime.”

“I’d like that. You know, poetry is… It’s like opening a piece of your heart. Makes you feel vulnerable.” Peter blushed, and studied his glass.

Marcus nodded. “I get that. You open your heart and there’s always someone there to rip it apart.”

“Not always.” Peter set his glass down and thought for a moment. “Marcus the hardest lesson I’ve ever had to learn is that sometimes it’s okay to be vulnerable. It’s okay not to be the strong one all the time. It’s okay to need help, and to ask for it.” Marcus turned his head away and took a healthy swig of his drink. “Sometimes you need to open your heart to let someone else in.”

Marcus snorted at that. “Yeah, well. I let God in didn’t I? He was my whole heart, _my whole life!_ “

“Is it God who’s betrayed you, or is it people who pretend to be Godly? Did God betray you with Andy?”

“No. I betrayed Him.”

Marcus finished off his bourbon and sighed. He set his glass down next to Peter’s and rested his hands in his lap. Finally he looked up into Peter’s soft brown eyes. They reflected kindness, and concern, and if he dared to think it – love. How could he be worthy of what he saw in those eyes? He blinked and looked again Nothing had changed. Peter reached out and took both of his hands, bringing them to his lips and kissing them one by one. He continued to hold them gently.

It was like a dam broke. Marcus told him everything: The beatings, the bullying, his parents. The assaults. The boy’s home and the mental institution. The lecherous priests and the temptations of the demons. Abandoning Mouse. It wasn’t until Andy and Tomas that he broke down. Peter never let go of his hands, letting Marcus squeeze them until it felt the bones would break. His heart broke for this man, for the childhood in ruins and the damage he had suffered. He knew the damage of war whether it be a war of politics or of demons. He knew the heartbreak of taking a life. He felt his own tears fall and Marcus let go of his hands and cupped his face.

“Old soldiers we. Eh?” Peter could only nod in response, and managed a small smile. Marcus leaned in and kissed him deeply. Peter responded in kind. The heat between them grew and Marcus felt an ache low in his belly. His breath came in gasps as Peter stroked his nape, his back, kissed his throat, rolled his nipple through his shirt. His cock began to harden and he suddenly pulled away. His voice was a ragged whisper. “I can’t. Oh God. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, it’s all right. Did I do something wrong?” Peter asked anxiously.

“No! No not at all. I’m just not ready. For this.” Marcus gestured between them and stood. “I should get some sleep.” He stood, then quickly bent down and kissed Peter’s cheek. “G’night.”

“Good night Marcus. Sleep well.” Peter watched Marcus head towards the hall and sighed. He cleared the glasses and headed to his own bedroom. He undressed to his tee shirt and shorts, and sat on the edge of his bed, thinking. If he was honest he had to admit he was falling in love with Marcus Keane. He could wait as long as Marcus needed him to.

****

Marcus shed his clothes and changed into the flannels and tee. The ache in his belly was receding but the ache in his heart still burned. He had loved before, or thought he had. He had felt desire, but had never acted on it. Oh, he’d rutted against his mattress when he woke up hard and told himself it was a dream but he’d never known the feeling of flesh against flesh, of mouths and hands on his body and his on theirs. He had never had someone hold him close and seen love in their eyes. He craved that most of all. He rubbed at his eyes and bit at his lower lip. He couldn’t deny that he was falling in love with Peter. It was time he was honest about it.

****

Peter heard a soft knock at the door, and before he could respond Marcus had entered. He slowly walked towards the bed and Peter held out his hand, drawing him near. “I need to tell you… It’s not that I don’t want to be with you Peter, God knows I do.” He sat on the edge of the bed next to Peter, and just being near him brought the heat back to his belly. He felt his cock twitch and when he spoke it was like a moan thick with desire. “I don’t know how to please you. I’ve never…”

Peter stopped him with a kiss, deep and probing, echoing his moan deep in his throat until he gasped for breath and his pulse pounded in his ears. “You’re a virgin. I figured as much. And it doesn’t matter, Marcus. When there’s… love… you figure it out. You learn from each other. You have nothing to prove.” He kissed Marcus again, enfolding him in his strong arms and shifting him onto the bed. “Tonight…” Peter straddled Marcus and shed his tee. “The only thing I really need…” He worked his hands under the edge of Marcus’ shirt and lifted it up and off as Marcus wriggled beneath him. “Is for you to let me please you.” Peter rolled them to the side and kissed his way down Marcus’ face, his throat, his shoulder. “If you need me to stop, any time – you tell me.”

Marcus nodded his consent, and gasped as Peter stroked his way down his back and reached below the waistband of his flannels to cup and knead his ass. “Don’t stop. Don’t …Ohh.” Peter tugged and Marcus shifted as his pants were removed and tossed aside. Peter’s shorts followed. He knelt between Marcus’ legs and nibbled slowly up his belly, circling his navel and stroking his side. He suckled at one pebbled nipple, then the other before working his way back up to Marcus’ throat and swollen lips.

Marcus held him tight, drawing him even closer and Peter lifted him at the small of his back until they were thrusting against each other. Peter sat back between Marcus’ thighs and smiled and Marcus thought he had never seen anything more beautiful. When he slid down and began licking Marcus’ balls it took Marcus’ breath away and he clutched at the bedclothes, lost in the sensation.

Peter took Marcus’ throbbing cock into his mouth, circling it with his tongue and stroking with a firm hand. It didn’t take long until Marcus moaned in a shuddering orgasm. He cried out, back arched and he saw a flash of the purest light, a holy light. He’d seen that light once before. _To love another person is to see the face of God._ Isn’t that what the song said? He knew now that it was true. Peter was next to him again, kissing him, his own hardness rubbing up against Marcus’ belly. Marcus reached a hand down between them and grasped it, feeling its weight and its girth. He began to stroke it and Peter shifted, put his hand over Marcus’ and guided him, encouraging him until his own orgasm shuddered through his body.

Marcus lay with his head on Peter’s chest, listening to that beautiful heart beat its steady rhythm. Peter drifted off to sleep and it wasn’t too long before Marcus felt himself following suit. His last thought before sleep took him was that for the first time in recent memory, he felt safe and at peace – and for that miracle of love, he gave his thanks to his God.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at my Tumblr, where I'm the Whovianfloozy -- come say hello!


End file.
